Summer Stars
by LoveWeasley
Summary: Lyra MacDonald is a bit iffy on going to Hogwarts, having lived the majority of her life in the States with her mother Mary. Despite trauma in her own Hogwarts experience, Mary insists that she go and connect with old friends, enjoy her life, and make her mother and father proud. Unfortunately, she has no idea who her father is or why it should even matter to make him proud.


Lyra MacDonald was early. She was always early. Her mother had instilled that into her from the time she was potty-trained, though how was she to know that her mother had kept the mantra out of the exasperation most parents feel at trying to get their kid to the toilet on their own.

"If you're early, there's less to no mess."

Lyra had once mentioned the phrase when her mother was taking a bit too long to get off the couch to take Lyra to her piano lesson. Her mom froze for a minute before lacing her shoes and muttering that if Lyra had remembered that little tidbit then why couldn't she remember to take the trash out. Then her mother had, very lady-like, stuck her tongue out and blown a raspberry at her.

Lyra sometimes wondered if she wasn't more the parent in the relationship than her mother. Though, when she glanced at the marred skin on the side of her mom's neck - the mark (she knew) continuing down and curling around her spine and belly - she reminded herself that her mom deserved a bit of a break.

Which brought Lyra to her current predicament: why was her mother making her go to the very school where she had been so scarred? And after the administration had done nothing to punish those responsible? After all, their small family of two had run clear to America in the early 1980s, not long after she had turned one, so as to avoid situations such as her mom had been subjected to in school. Mary MacDonald was no fool, and she knew full well that the magical Ministry of Britain would offer no more help (perhaps even less so) than her alma mater, Hogwarts, had done.

Lyra was brought out of her musings as her mother almost barrelled into her after bursting through the magical brick gateway onto Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Her owl, a common barn owl from America that had been her familiar for going on three years now, chittered in indignation as Lyra quickly jerked her cart out of the way.

"I'll hear no backtalk from you, Mr. Darcy," Mary waggled her finger threateningly at the bird before smoothing out her robes before ruffling her daughter's hair, "Why in heaven's name you wanted to arrive so early is beyond me."

So, the MacDonald's were forty-five minutes early. Lyra shrugged, absentmindedly fixing her hair, not willing to acknowledge she may have jumped the gun a little bit. But her nerves had her frazzled and she wasn't thinking as clearly as usual. Her mother, sensing the discomfort, smoothed a stray hair that she herself had ruffled back into place.

"Now, you listen here. You're going to find some amazing friends at Hogwarts. See if you can get into contact with Neville or Harry. Maybe see if there's a Lupin roaming around. I wish I had kept up more with my friends from school.. I could hardly tell you who else got married or who had a child or when. And the others…" Mary trailed off but Lyra understood. She wasn't quite eight years old when her mother hadn't waited long enough on Halloween night to start drinking, her cries drawing Lyra into the kitchen, finding her mother sobbing over some photographs and parchment. It wasn't until the next morning that Mary had told her of her closest friends and roommates at Hogwarts. Lily Evans and Alice Brown were both some of the most courageous and kind-hearted girls she had ever known, she told Lyra. They had gotten themselves married to boys who both loved them very much, and had sons within a day apart ("Two months after you were born, dear.") before life had been egregiously unkind to them. Lily and her husband dead at the hands of a madman, Alice and her husband tortured into insanity at the hands of a madwoman.

A month before the untimely death of the Potters, Mary had fled with Lyra to New York, leaving behind her family, friends, and Lyra's father. It was at this point in the re-telling that Mary had put her daughter's face in her hands, staring into her eyes with an intensity she couldn't' recall ever seeing there before then.

"Your father was a good man. If there's one thing I want you to know, it's that he was a good man."

Lyra could could count on one hand the amount of times her mother had talked about her father in any capacity. One of those times, she had apologized for sometimes not being able to look at Lyra. Apparently, she had inherited practically all of her father's features, including the way she held herself.

"You're always so elegant, my dear," Mary had chuckled once in a restaurant, laughing at how poised Lyra could look just dipping french fries in ketchup, "and the sweetest thing is that you don't even realize you're doing it. Just like..." And Mary had coughed and quickly changed the subject. Lyra had, of course, understood. So she blushed and proceeded to eat the rest of her meal as filthily as she could manage.

And now it was just a half hour until the train left and a few other early risers were trickling their way into the entry. The MacDonald's had moved out of the way some time ago, holding hands and not wanting to face the fact that, very shortly, they would be separated for the longest they had ever been. Lyra couldn't recall any time she had been away from her mother for longer than two days in a row, and that reality was starting to hit her even more now.

"Gran, what if Trevor gets away from me again?" Lyra heard a pudgy little boy ask his companion, an intimidating, tall woman with a giant vulture hat.

"That is why we encouraged you to purchase an owl, Neville. Anything more practical than…" The woman's nose wrinkled and she turned her head away as the boy blushed, giving an apology that sounded as if he'd had to say it many times before.

But Lyra and her mother had both darted their heads up at the boy's name, sharing two twinkly-eyed smiles and forgetting their worries for a moment. Mary confirmed that this was almost certainly the Longbottom heir, "He looks just like Frank did at his age."

Lyra suddenly became very shy as her mother steered them towards the two. Though she had very few girlfriends back in New York, she had even less experience with boys. It wasn't that she was at the stage where she thought boys were icky, she just liked to keep to herself, and boys were loud and rowdy and messy creatures.

"Hello, Madame Longbottom. I'm Mary MacDonald, Alice's old roommate from school. I've tried to send you letters over the years, but I guess getting them across the pond is always a bit of a struggle because I never received any replies. I'm sorry we haven't been able to be in contact before now, I would have loved for Neville and Lyra to get to know each other before sending them off to school."

As Madame Longbottom tried to hide her reddening face and come up with a excuse, Lyra, not for the first time, admired the steel glint in her mother's eyes. Mary MacDonald was never afraid to call a person out for slighting their family. Many times over the years she had heard mother mumbling, grumbling, and sometimes flat out ranting about the great Madame Longbottom not deigning to get off her high horse to show even the slightest bit of courtesy to the common people. Lyra knew there was hurt in there too, though. The Longbottoms were the first and only family she had tried to get in contact with after their move, and any kind of rejection took its toll.

Lyra's eyes moved to watch Neville, and she remembered seeing his head shoot up at the mention of his mother. It hurt her in a way that she couldn't quite describe to see the hope and longing in his eyes as he stared up at Mary, his parents' fate ringing in her head. He looked like he desperately wanted to ask a question and Lyra didn't understand why he was being so quiet. Perhaps the poor boy was just too shy.

"It's nice to see other people have some respect for punctuality. Mum always likes to take her sweet time in the mornings, but we couldn't very well be late for the express. And whoever knows what the morning traffic is going to look like?" Lyra took pity on the poor boy while also trying to break the awkward tension that had followed Mary's comments. Mary merely rolled her eyes and mumbled something about precocious swots, but Neville blushed as she addressed him, his eyes not quite able to meet hers just yet. Lyra felt a sudden determination to break the boy out of his shell before the winter holidays came along, and was just as quickly stunned by the feeling.

She had always had to be a bit more than a daughter to her mother. Her childhood was fun and happy at most times, yes, but they had been alone in a country where Mary knew no one and had no desire to get to know anyone due to fear. She needed someone more than just a daughter, so Lyra was a parent and a best friend and a nurse (when Mary's magical scar began to act up) and her confidant of sorts. She was used to taking on the role of a healer. However, she had never felt such a strong pull to be those things, to help out someone as much as she had her mother, until she met this Neville. It was one of the weirdest feelings she'd had in awhile, and she became suddenly uncomfortable.

Thankfully, Neville, as he still wasn't really looking at her, didn't notice her change in countenance and finally managed to half-whisper out an answer, "Gran's always taught me that being on time is one of, if not the most, important rule in manners that there is. I always want to be early anyway in case I realize that I've forgotten something and we need to go back and pick it up. I tend to forget a lot," he mumbled sheepishly. Lyra opened her mouth to respond, but Madame Longbottom decided that that would be her moment to jump in the conversation.

"Yes, my grandson does have the unfortunate tendency to forget his belongings at times. Be that as it may, I plan to send him a little something in the next few weeks that will hopefully aid in conquering this little trait," she looked to her grandson and Lyra saw a sort of warmth in her eyes before she turned back to face Mary, "As to your letters, you'll have to forgive that I don't respond to every letter we receive. As the Acting Head of Longbottom House, I'm required to go through a good number of letters and missives every day. As you did not use your family seal on your letters, I'm afraid that I could not fully trust that you were who you said you were," as she finished, Lyra believed she may have even heard a bit of regret in her tone, though nothing in the woman's stance showed it. She was nothing if not fierce.

Mary smiled wide at the explanation, and Lyra could sense relief in it as well, knowing she hadn't been outright rejected. Before anyone could respond to that, Madame Longbottom made her excuses, gave her grandson a pat on the arm, and promptly turned and left the platform. She had explained that she had duties at the Ministry of Magic early that day, part of why they had come to the platform even earlier than they normally would have. Lyra smiled awkwardly and Neville shifted uncomfortably as neither of them really knew what to do now that they had so much time to kill.

"Well," Mary smiled, causing both children to jump a bit, "it seems like we have a lot of catching up to do little Neville. How about you tell us some of your interests? Frank always had a green thumb. I wonder if he gave it to you as well, considering the bit of fresh dirt you've got under your ear," she teased him lightly. He stiffened a bit at the first mention of his father's name before his eyes grew wide, her words finally registering in his brain. Lyra suddenly felt as if she was staring at a completely different person as Neville's grin grew wide to match his eyes, and he stood a bit straighter.

"Gran has always encouraged my love of gardening. I know it's because it helps to remind her of Dad, but I know that she's proud I'm following in his footsteps, too," the grin refused to leave his face.

"I hope I'm not being too forward when I ask if you would care to send me a letter every now and again. Merlin knows Lyra will need the reminder to keep up with her dear old mum, and I could regale you with stories of your parents and godmother until my brain fell out my ears. I've missed the majority of your life thus far, but don't think I plan to miss any more after this," Mary wagged a finger at him to lighten the mood, as the emotion her statements were bringing out in both herself and Neville were starting to gain notice from those around them. The station was filling up as time ticked much too quickly - in Lyra's opinion - towards the top of the hour. She looked to her mother with a hint of desperation in her eyes, and Mary knew what to do.

"How about this, Neville? Can you go save a spot on the train for you and Lyra while I give her a last little pep talk?" He nodded and her smile lit up the entire station, "I expect a letter in no less than a week from you, young man!"

Neville walked off towards the closest train door as Mary bent a bit to stroke Lyra's now-wet cheek. She knew she shouldn't be crying, she hadn't cried about something so silly in who knew how long and it was even better that she decided to do it as all her future classmates were continually piling on the platform. But she was her mom and she needed her and how did she ever think she was going to be able to do this? Mary pulled her into a tight hug before Lyra could start openly sobbing.

"I know you're scared, sweetheart. I was too when I got on that damn train. But not five minutes on it and I had already met some of the sweetest and most beautiful people I had ever known, and probably will ever know. I can't keep you from your peers when I know how much you struggled in the States. We couldn't keep hiding. This will be absolutely brilliant for you, and I'm already immensely proud of what you're going to do," Mary whispered into her hair and Lyra could feel herself relax and find peace in her mother's soothing words. She squeezed even tighter before pulling back, though not quite letting go.

"I'm going to miss you so much, mum," Lyra struggled to say, though her face was now, thankfully, dry, "I'll write you every day."

"Well, perhaps not every day. I'm not sure if Mr. Darcy and the other school owls could handle it," Mary chuckled, and they finally released each other. Another unfortunate reason that they were early was that Mary had many appointments throughout the day in order to work out more details of their move back to Britain. It was, sadly, a much more complicated process than either of them had expected. Lyra kissed her mother's cheek and gave her one last hug before running towards the train, luggage in tow. After all, it wouldn't do to start bawling like a baby for the second time that day.


End file.
